


The Gentleman at Table 14

by hhoneycas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chef Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Multi, Slow Burn, Teacher Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhoneycas/pseuds/hhoneycas
Summary: Dean has been in food his whole life. He followed his brother to San Fransisco, and moved to LA for food, so Sam only visits about three times a year. This time, he's brought a friend.[MOSTLY ABANDONED]





	1. Salad

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo everyone! Hopefully I'll update once a week? Idk? School's a bitch? As always my summaries are shit, my writing is better, I don't have a beta reader ([If you wanna, hit up my Tumblr](https://doeeyeddeanwinchester.tumblr.com/) ), and thank you for reading!

Dean had been around food his whole life. From the first time his mother had lifted him up by his armpits onto the counter to watch her make dinner, to making Sam dinner when their dad was gone, to now, and everything in between. His career in food on the other hand, started when he was sixteen. His dad’s half assed job hadn’t paid enough, so Dean took up a few shifts at the fast food joint downtown. He washed dishes, bused tables, and eventually, started helping make the food for two years. A little after he turned eighteen, the owner of the Italian place down the road asked him to help her out after her son quit, where Dean figured out he was a fairly talented pasta maker. He stayed there for awhile, making enough money to pay for a short culinary program at the community college, and when he turned twenty-two, he pulled his weight to California and followed Sam. San Francisco offered few jobs, and Dean settled for a job bartending, then cooking, then a few shifts of each. That lasted a year before he moved south to Los Angeles. That happened to be a whole different scene. Dean was forced to start from the bottom. He was back to washing dishes, and working his way up. Only, this time he was at a higher class restaurant. Then, as a waiter, he was moved from restaurant to restaurant for a year, until one night he received a sharp tap on his shoulder, causing Dean to spin and find himself face to face with the executive chef. The man told him he heard Dean had a talent for making food over bringing it to people and the next week, Dean found himself as one of the new line chefs at The Ivy Lavender. He stayed in that position for two years, getting himself a higher culinary education, before moving up to saute chef. Then it was a brief two year stint there, gaining experience, before he became the sous chef. Two years later, Dean still held that position at twenty eight, and loved it. 

Now Dean found himself in front of a large steel bowl, hand tossing a giant chicken spinach salad, because the line chef couldn't do it himself, before tapping in a line chef standing next to him to plate. He walked down the length of the kitchen to where the sauté chef stood. Charlie, noticing his presence, looked up at him, smiling brightly.

“Care to help?” She asked, gesturing at the array of vegetables beneath her.

“Sure.” Dean said, smiling, and moved to stand next to her before feeling a strong arm on his shoulder, making Dean jump a bit before spinning around. He sighed heavily in disdain when he realized who it was. “Ketch.” Dean said, acknowledging the executive chef, as curt as he could be without falling into rude.

“Winchester. One of the servers says the gentleman at table fourteen would like to compliment,” Ketch coughed heavily, “The sous chef with  _ the eyes  _ he just  _ knows _ made his salad.” Ketch huffed once before saying, ”Since it’s relatively slow, once you find a break, you’re free to pay him a visit.”

Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, and had to restart his breathing once Charlie pulled him back to the present with a sharp elbow to the ribs. 

“Yes. Of course, thank you.” Dean managed to spit out before turning back to the stove as Ketch walked away.

“You gonna go?”

Dean looked down at Charlie who was bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Maybe. I might not catch a break.”

“Yes you will. Turns out I got it handled here!” Charlie reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, turning him towards the door. Dean mumbled some sort of reluctance before walking to the large swinging doors that led to the interior of the restaurant. 

That was the thing about working in a restaurant with an open kitchen. People rarely wanted to compliment the sous chef, but when people could see him, it was a different story. It wasn’t like Dean lost the gene pool lottery, so it came as no surprise whenever it happened, but the difference this time, was the gentleman part. Dean had nothing against the gentleman part, and it was no secret he liked guys, and he’d had his share of guys approach him, but it never happened at work, so naturally he was a little taken aback. Dean peeled off the glove he’d been wearing on his right hand and dropped it in the trash before walking onto the floor, and breathing an immediate sigh of relief when he made eye contact with Sam.

“Oh thank god,” He said when he was within hearing distance of his brother.

“Cute, right?” Sam said, standing to embrace Dean, before gesturing to the dark haired man opposite him, that Dean suddenly noticed as Same spoke, “Dean, this is Castiel.”

Dean looked down, took a breath, looked back up, decided he was inherently fucked, before spitting out, “Hey. I’m Dean.” He then internally emptied the clip of the gun he’d just shot himself in the foot with. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, standing and extending a hand, “I’m Castiel.” He smiled warmly, and Dean felt himself smiling back instinctively.

“So,” Dean violently cleared his throat, “How do you know Sam?”

“We work at the bookstore together.”

“That’s my brother,” Dean said, smiling. “Lawyering, booking.” He shifted his feet so the heel of his boots rested on his toe and pushed down. Hard. Checking, of course, that he wasn’t dreaming. He had in fact, said something  _ that _ stupid. “What do you do?” He asked, bringing the conversation back from the awkward pit that was “lawyering”

“I’m working on a Bachelor’s in secondary education.”

“Heh?”

“Teaching, Dean,” Sam said, stepping between the two, and putting his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “Something you need more of. Now all I wanted was to say ‘hi’ and introduce you. Go back to work, text me when you get off, and we’ll get drinks.” 

“It’s Friday. I don’t get off until like one,” Dean protested.

“Then drinks at your place,” Sam said, pushing Dean back towards the kitchen

“Sure, okay,” Dean relented, starting to walk.

“Oh, Dean?” Cas spoke, quiet, but earnest.

“Yeah?” Dean said, abruptly spinning, and setting his hands on his hips, in an awkward fashion.

“I enjoyed the salad immensely,” He said smiling the warm smile that Dean had glimpsed a total of two times, but was already making him melt.

“Thank you.” Dean smiled back, and hauled ass to the kitchen before he could embarrass himself further, making it six inches away from the door, before a single thought resurfaced.

_ That he just  _ knows _ made his salad _ . Dean looked at the door in front of him and mumbled, “Oh shit,” Before pushing through the door.


	2. Tremors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said once a week, I really thought I was gonna go for once a week, but apparently not?? I am so sorry! But I'm proud of this so please enjoy friends

The rest of his shift was entirely uneventful other than Ketch losing it at the new line cook for dropping a sheet pan of creme brûlée. Dean just walked around the kitchen, preparing food, plating, giving orders, and avoiding Charlie’s smirk, until about one thirty. 

The car ride was entirely uneventful. The sun was way past set, so there wasn’t much to pay attention to other than red light after red light. Dean was essentially spaced out until he pulled around the corner to his building, and caught Sam’s prius in the corner of his vision, in his spot of course. He parked his car, and opted for the three flights of stairs, nearly crashing into his brother, and Cas, who were both sat politely outside his apartment.

“I couldn’t find my key,” Sam said.

“Ah, right.” Dean reached over him to unlock the door.

Sam stood, and moved to follow Dean. “Oh my god!”

“What?” Dean turned to look at his Sam, frozen in the doorway.

Sam turned slowly towards him, flinging an arm towards Dean’s living room. “It’s a mess!” 

“No, it’s not, you’re just a freak.” Dean walked into the apartment, pulled off his coat, and draped it over the back of his chair. He started to unbutton his jacket, which was currently home to several stains, until Sam put a hand on his shoulder.

“Please,  _ please,  _ tell me you’re going to wash that.”

“Eventually, I have others,” Dean said, opening a closet and tossing the garment in.

“Oh my god.” Sam sighed deeply, and flopped on Dean’s couch. “You’re disgusting!” He called from the depth of the sectional.

“Thank you!”

“Dean.”

“Oh shit! Hey Cas,” Dean said turning.   
“Hello. Where can I put my coat?” Cas held up the jacket.

“Wherever. Like Sam said, I’m a mess.” Dean turned away, walking toward the kitchen as Cas put his coat down. Cas stood awkwardly in the living room watching Sam sit and sort through his brother’s mail.

“Dean! Bills!” Sam yelled flinging a hand, clutching several envelopes, into the air.

“I pay them!” Dean called from behind the refrigerator door. He stood, his right arm struggling to keep hold on the beer cans stacked three high. In his left arm was a pizza box. He set down two of the cans and the box, throwing the other beer at the couch. 

Sam sat up, opening his drink, and looked from Dean to the pizza box with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, seriously?”

“We go over this every time,” Dean offered a beer to Cas, which he silently denied, before continuing, “I make food for other people, sometimes other people can make it for me.” Dean picked up the box again, gesturing a hand between it and Cas as an offer. 

“No, thank you, I ate,” Cas said, smiling.

Dean opened the oven, and raised an eyebrow at Cas. “Yeah, you did. But that was,” Dean looked at his watch, “Six hours ago, so if you can tell me you aren't hungry, I’ll leave you alone, but I really don’t think that’s the case.” Dean slammed the oven closed with his foot, for effect.

“Okay. Sure. Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, buddy.” Dean smiled and walked over to the couch.

Cas followed, slowly, sitting on the arm of the chair.

“Cas.” Dean looked up at him, “Sit on the couch.”

“Alright,” Cas said, sliding onto the cushion next to Dean.

“Alrighty then. Sammy!” Dean elbowed his brother in the ribs. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Helvetica.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Helvetica.”

“Like the font? On our drink menus?”

“Exactly.” Sam sat up straighter, turning on the TV, “Which by the way, how do you know the font on your drink menus?”

“I don’t know, but do we have to watch it?”

“Cas, what do you think?” Sam asked, gesturing the remote at his friend.

“It’s fascinating, Dean,” Cas said, looking at him intently.

“It’s true.” Sam navigated to the documentaries.

“Yeah, but if you’ve both seen it, what’s the point?”

“Making you see it, of course,” Cas said, laughing lightly to himself.

“I thought you were on my side, Cas.”

“My apologies, Dean.”

“Look, it’s only four dollars to rent… Again.”

“What?” Dean quickly faced Sam. Sam looked at Dean, and fell into hysterical giggles.

“You’ve already seen it!” He tossed Dean the remote, dancing his way into the kitchen. “Dude, we can watch whatever you want, I’ve already won tonight.”

“Shut up!”

“Never,” Sam called back

Cas shifted on the couch, before scooting closer to Dean. “Did you like it?”

“Yes. And that’s all I’m telling you.” Dean glared at the television, scrolling through netflix, and drinking annoyedly.

“Okay. If we aren’t watching Helvetica, what are we watching?”

“Tremors!” Dean sat up suddenly.

Cas pulled himself onto the arm again, “What? Where?”

“Nowhere, Cas,” Dean said, laughing, “The movie. With Kevin Bacon.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well, stop squinting at me, and sit on the damn couch.”

Cas canted his head, and moved six inches closer to Dean.

“Nope.” Dean grabbed his arm. “I mean, over here.” Dean started the movie, Cas now significantly closer.

“Where does this movie take place?”

“Nevada. Now watch it.”

“When?”

“1990.”

“Which one is Kevin Bacon?”

“Cas,” Dean turned, “Watch the movie.”

“I like having context.”

“The context is explained, I promise, now watch the movie.”

Both sat in silence for two minutes, until Sam walked in, and threw his unopened beer at Dean.   
“Ow! What the fuck?!”

“I hate this movie!” Sam threw another can at Dean in protest. 

“Well, Castiel over here hasn’t.” Dean smiled and out his feet on the table. 

Another five minutes passed in near silence, with Sam shifting positions ever thirty seconds, until Dean paused the movie. 

“Sam.” Dean said, turning toward Sam in poorly smothered anger. 

“Yeah?”

Dean gaped. “Do you need to take walk?”

“No? Why?”

“Are you sure? We’re 8 minutes in, and you’re moving like you’re on crack.”

“I am not! But if I’m infuriating you that much, I’ll leave.” Sam got up from the couch, his hands held up in mock defense. “Where’s your laptop?”

“Table.” Dean paused before turning over the back of the couch. “Stay out of my room!”

“You got it,” Sam said, exiting Dean’s room. “Though you might wanna clean up in there.”

“Screw off, Sammy.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Sam called leaning only his head and shoulders out the doorway, “It is in these moment I feel we are truly brothers.” With that he ducked back into the guest room, and shut the door, leaving Dean and Cas in peace.

“Do you always argue like that?” Cas looked at Dean, his eyes screaming confusion.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t call it real arguing. Just Sammy being tired, and me being...Me.” Dean smiled at Cas, who turned to the movie and raised his eyebrows in a simple, “shall we” manner.

“But first, pizza.” Dean smirked and nearly skipped over to the kitchen, and depositing a napkin and the pizza box in front of Cas.

Cas smiled and took a piece, resting it gently in his lap, and facing the television, while Dean resumed the movie.

The two sat side by side for the remaining ninety minutes, Cas asking the occasional question, forcing Dean to pause for various reasons, and Dean simply watching. Despite the number of times he’d seen the film, he still found himself engrossed, mouthing along with more and more lines every watch through. When the screen cut to black, Dean turned to Cas eager for an opinion, but Cas was still staring at the screen, reading every name and every job title that scrolled by.

“You do that every time?” Dean asked, looking at Cas’ profile.

“Do what?” His head didn’t move while he answered Dean.

“Wait out the credits?”

“Yes,” Cas finally looked at Dean, making eye contact that seemed far more serious than the situation. “Some of the more foreign names are fun to read.”

Dean had to laugh. The poised teaching student next to him liked to read credits,  _ because the names sounded funny _ . It was so much like something Dean would do, and he would have too, if he hadn’t looked at his watch.

“Holy hell, it’s four in the morning.” Dean rose from the couch quickly, clearing everything off the coffee table in one trip.

“I thought you said you liked nighttime better.” Cas followed Dean into the kitchen, watching him hastily put things away and clean up.

“I do, but again, Sam is a morning person, and he won’t exactly be quiet when he gets up to run in,” Dean caught another look at his watch, “Three hours. Three hours of sleep, which I need, or Sam will not  _ be able  _ to run.”

“Ah.” Cas nodded knowingly, despite only vaguely understanding the threat, and picked up his coat from the chair in front of him. “Thank you for having me, Dean. It was nice meeting you.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean turned on a heel, laughing breathily.

“As you said, it is late, I should be going.” He held up his coat, and gestured it towards the door

“Like hell you are,” Dean said walking over and taking the jacket out of Cas’ hand. “It’s late, you can crash here.”

“You only have one room, Dean,” Cas protested, taking his coat back. “A room which Sam is in.”

“No, I have my room.” Dean took the coat, and putting it in the hall closet. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“But, Dean-“

“Cas?” Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “Shut up?”

Cas blinked, slightly affronted by Dean’s request. Still, he followed the taller man into the other room, then froze. Clean didn’t even begin to describe it. Immaculate was closer, but not quite there. The room looked like it was staged, and no one had ever used it since. 

“This is...your room?” He didn’t try to hide his surprise, considering the state of the kitchen and living room. 

“Yeah,” Dean scratched a hand through his hair, suddenly nervous. “I guess it looks a little different from the rest of the place.” He laughed lightly and looked at Cas, waiting for him to move. 

Cas took a cautious step forward and took in the room. One of the walls was absorbed by the closet, and along the other was the bed, made perfectly with an inordinate number of pillows, Dean’s desk which sat littered with photos framed and organized on the top, and the music collection. Cas could almost feel the pride radiating off the man behind him when he approached it. The first four shelves housed the records and the record player. A quick glance showed that every single one was sorted in perfect order by artist, then alphabetically. 

“Anything I don’t have on vinyl is on CD,” Dean said, pointing to the bottom shelf. 

“No cassettes?”

“Oh no,” Dean knelt down removing a plastic container form next to the CD player and showing it to Cas, “I have plenty, but these play in my car, so they get rotated out.”

“Impressive,” Cas said, nodding approvingly as if that mattered to Dean. 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean scratched a hand through his hair and on the back of his neck as he backed towards the door. “Umm, feel free to come get me if you need anything, I’ll be in the couch. Bathroom is between my room and Sam’s, and uh, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas said, smiling sweetly. 

Dean began to back out, freezing abruptly just before the door. 

“Wait, wait wait wait.” Dean mumbled running back into the room and towards the closet. He fished around a bit before producing a pair of gray sweatpants that read University of Kansas in blue and had a red and yellow bird head beneath the text. “Don’t sleep in dress pants,” Dean said, handing the sweats to Castiel with a soft smile. 

“Thank you.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Dean fumbled with his own two hands before walking back toward the door. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

The door slowly shut behind him as Dean grabbed a blanket from the closet and settled onto the couch, awkwardly replaying the last ten minutes until he fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <33 It's really awesome to hear what ppl think so feel free to leave a comment!


	3. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm sorry I am so slow to update, but I'm trying my best! Shorter chapter and I'm sorry, but it's here!

Morning in Dean’s apartment was usually boring. Although, Sam being over made waking up far more exciting because Sam, being tall and whatever, made a considerable amount of noise when he moved. And when Sam decided to get up at eight in the morning to run, he made even more noise than average, which, nine times out of nine, woke Dean up. 

Sam clambered out of his room at exactly eight fifteen, fully prepared to use the blender he’d gotten Dean for christmas, when the man himself appeared from the depths of the couch.

“Don’t touch the blender, Sam,” Dean said scrambling to get off the couch. “So help me god, if you turn that thing on I will make you take it home with you and I will use it to make margaritas at two thirty and there will be nothing you can do to stop me.” 

Sam didn’t move expect for closer to the blender.

“Sam!”

“Shit, Dean!” He jumped and pulled out one of his headphones. 

“Don’t touch the blender.”

“Why? You’re up now aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He shot a glare at Sam. “But I also didn’t sleep until four in the morning and neither did Cas, so maybe,  _ don’t touch the blender. _ ” 

San started to laugh. “Dean, you know Cas is my roommate right?” Dean nodded. “If you think  _ I  _ get up early to run, you have seen nothing. The guy goes to sleep at one and gets up at five thirty. He’s running on endorphins and caffeine at this point. I doubt he even pushed it back more than an hour and a half.” 

As if to prove Sam’s point, Cas walked through the door, stopping almost instantly.

“What the hell?” Dean looked him up and down. “I have so many issues with this!” 

“I’m sorry?” Cas said, pulling out one of  _ his  _ earbuds. 

“One, you’re _ literally  _ running on three and a half hours of sleep. Two, where the hell did you get running gear? I get Sam cause he keeps some of his stuff at my place, but this,” Dean gestured at Cas with a wild hand trying to ignore the fact that he was in  _ running shorts, _ “I don‘t get it at all. And,  _ three _ , why is my front door unlocked?” 

Cas slowly stepped into the apartment, closing the door gently behind him. “Well, I don’t sleep much on a regular basis.” He shrugged then looked down at his clothing. “This came from the car. We never actually got around to getting me to the place where I was going to stay, because we were late for dinner, so my bag was still in the car. The door on the other hand, is my fault. I texted Sam I was leaving it unlocked, because I knew he’d be up shortly after me, but I don’t have your cell phone number so I couldn’t notify you.”

“Okay. One more thing, if I hadn’t let you stay here last night, where would you have gone?” 

“We hadn’t discussed the details of that.” 

Dean turned slowly to sam. “What the hell, dude?!”

“He insisted,” Sam said, pointing. 

“What the hell, dude?” Dean directed the accusation at Cas this time. 

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Okay well that’s stupid. Sam, go get his stuff from the car. Cas, go shower, what’d you run, like two miles?”

“Five.”

“Shower. Then, we’re giving you,” He pointed at Cas, “A quarter dose of melatonin so you can sleep.” 

Cas stepped forward, “Dean, really, you don’t-“

“Nope.” Dean grabbed his shoulders, leading him towards the bathroom. “Go. And then we’re going to get lunch. Like normal people, who get normal sleep, and eat non-blended food.”

“Dean, you get like four hours on a good day,” Sam said front he doorway.

“Sam, car.”

“Fine.”

The doors shut and the shower started. Dean walked to the cupboard below his counter pulling out the melatonin, and the correct dosage. He placed it on the counter next to a glass of water and walked to the couch. He curled up into his blanket until he heard a bag landing on his table.

“Can I go for my run now?”

“Yes, Sam. Go.” Dean pointed at the door with a lazy finger. “Then please, for the love of god, shower after.”

Sam gave a mock salute as he jogged to the door, shutting it lightly behind him.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice came out of the bathroom a minute later.

“It’s on the counter.” The same lazy finger reaching over the top of couch, because not even god could help him if he looked behind him. 

“And how much?”

“Third of a dose," Dean said, face firmly pressed into the couch cushion. "You’ll sleep for three hours. There’s a clean pair of sweats in the closet in the third drawer of the dresser.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, Cas.” He heard the footsteps grow quiet behind him, and the door to his room shutting. Dean brought his arm back from the back of the couch, wrapping his blanket around himself because he’d be damned to hell if he didn’t catch up on  _ some  _ sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Leave a comment, lemme know what you think!!


	4. Piano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, it's short, but I'm posting two today so I'm making up for it! Sorry I'm so bad at posting! Love you all anyway and thank you for reading!

Dean woke up to a sudden and  _ painful _ weight on his knees, and the voice of his brother in his ear. Naturally, he sent an elbow flying in the direction of the voice and felt it connect with his brother’s jaw. 

“Dean! What the hell?” Sam sat up holding the side of his face.

“You grew up with me dumbass. You should expect this,” Dean said, essentially rolling off the couch.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m never eating your food again.” 

“You love my food and you know it.” Dean stood, wobbling as if he was drunk and walked toward his room, punching his brother in the arm as he passed.

“So are we going to lunch or not?” Sam called from the kitchen. Dean stuck his head out of his room, glaring at Sam’s grin.

“Give me. A fucking. Minute.” He ducked back into his room. Subconsciously, or consciously who gives a damn, Dean reached for his nice jeans. The dark blue ones  _ without  _ holes in the pockets or scuffs where his boots had caught the ends. He may have also torn the tag off his shirt as he walked out, but again, who gives a damn. 

“Alright. I’m ready to go. Where’s Cas?” Yes, the concern was subconscious too. 

Sam barely looked up from the crossword as Dean stood next to him. He simply shrugged, scratching his pencil around a clue and muttering, “What the hell is ‘ _ Vonnegut debut instrument’ _ ?”

“Piano.” Dean walked into the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee before meeting his brother’s stunned expression. “What?”

“How?” Sam walked over to Dean, who leaned over the paper.

“Well, ‘ _ Vonnegut debut’ _ probably means debut book, which was  _ Player Piano _ , and ‘ _ instrument’  _ leads to piano.” He pointed at the boxes. “And five letters. Piano.”

Cas walked out of the bathroom then, washcloth in hand. “I dirtied your hand towel, where should I put it?”

“Don’t tell me how, just put it in the hall closet.” Dean pointed, face hidden behind the coffee mug. The one with his license plate on it that Sam had bought for his birthday.

Cas gently shut the closet door before turning to Dean. “Don’t think vulgar things about me, Dean. I’m not naive.” 

“Too fuckin’ late,” he muttered to his coffee, earning himself a look from Sam. To Cas, he said, “You got it, buddy.” Then to the whole room, “So, lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tysm for reading! Comments, kudos, blah, blah. Hope you liked it!


	5. Banned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU WANNA BE MY BETA READER HMU also I love you all I'm sorry I don't update

“Dean, jesus christ, we do this every damn time!” Sam threw his hands in the air. “Just pick someplace!”

“It’s hard, Sam. You know why it’s hard? The only good place here is  _ my  _ restaurant, but it doesn’t open ‘till two, and you guys already went there last night.”

“Fine, I’ll pick a place,” Sam said, looking out at the street. After an all too brief, as far as Dean was concerned, glance he pointed to a burger joint down the road. “There.”

“Oh no, we cannot go there.” Dean put a finger up, wagging it slowly.

“Dean, if we don’t eat there, it’ll take us another hour to decide, then you’ll be late to work, or Cas and I will starve.” Sam shot a glance back at Cas, hoping for solidarity, and only getting the “I’m not choosing sides” shrug.

Dean pulled his car into a spot, the whole time maintaining a hard glare at Sam. Sam led the way to the door, opening it for Cas, and pushing Dean inside. The second he crossed the threshold a voice broke the chatter flowing through the place.

“Mom! Winchester’s here!” The owner of a voice, a blonde-haired girl about Sam’s age, walked over from a booth. Leaning forward on the hostess stand she scanned their faces before saying, “You’re not allowed in here.”

“Dude, what the hell?” Sam turned to his brother, arms already in the air.

“I told them they were making their burgers wrong and they banned me!”

“Of  _ course  _ you did. Dean Winchester, A plus nice person.” Hands still orbiting around his head, he spun in a small, aggravated circle.

Then, surprising both brothers, Cas stepped forward. Glancing down at her nametag he addressed the girl, “Jo, I’m certain Dean has done many things to piss you off. I know this and I’ve only known him about eighteen hours, but would you be kind enough to lift his ban so that his brother and I could enjoy your food?” After being met with silence Cas smiled lightly. “I promise we won’t let him say a mean word about it.”

“Deal,” Jo said, angrily picking up three menus and leading them to the booth she’d been cleaning.

“Thank you,” Cas said giving her a nod before turning to his tablemates, who sat stunned.

“Dude,” Dean started, eyes wide. “I haven’t been in here in a year, and you just flirted with the owner’s daughter enough to get her to let me in.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Cas responded, looking from his menu to Dean. “Was I?”

Dean nodded, laughing heavily. “Oh, fully. Wasn’t he Sam?” Dean turned to look at his brother, whose eyes were glued to his phone. “Sam,” He elbowed him lightly, “Table manners, man, c’mon.”

Sam ignored Dean, sliding out of the booth, staring at his screen. “I have to go,” He said, starting to walk out.

“Woah, woah woah woah.” Dean caught up to him, catching his elbow. “What? We just got here.”

“No, Dean, go like, back to San Francisco.” 

“I say again, you just got here.”

Sam held up his phone revealing an email, subject line  _ Removal from program _ . “Dean, I don’t have enough money. They took me off the pre-law track unless I’m down there tonight to sort it out. I have to go.” He pocketed his phone and walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, fam. Comments and Kudos are things, and they make me feel validated <333


	6. College and French Fries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To clear things up:  
> \- Time of year is spring  
> \- After high school Sam took two years before going to college  
> \- After high school Castiel took one gap year, went to college for 6 years, and is student teaching putting him two years between both Sam and Dean age-wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love exposition through dialogue! But seriously it's super dialogue heavy.

It took Dean about three seconds to wrap his head around what had happened before he pushed open the door, walking onto the sidewalk. Sam stood staring down at his phone, one foot rocking nervously on the edge of the curb.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked from behind him. 

“Getting an Uber.” Sam didn’t look up from his phone, and stared impatiently at the little number stating his driver would be here in eight minutes. Some guy named Carlo that he obviously wasn’t going to enjoy the thirty minute drive to LAX with.

“No, Sam, I mean what are you doing as in, how did you get kicked out by not having enough money? You’re on scholarship.” Dean looked up at his brother, with real, genuine confusion weaving through his brain. Sam was the perfect one. The one who never, ever, missed the shots he took, and who had all the opportunities, and not in the way Dean got opportunities, by swindling, flirting and making deals, but because he was talented. 

“They...uh,” Sam sighed and looked across the street, “They took away my scholarship.” He took a deep breath when Dean put his hands in his pockets.

Dean took a breath in kind and turned to look at his brother. “Sam, what’s going on, man?”

“I’ve been missing a lot of class, Dean. A lot. Enough that I stopped being ‘proficient student’ enough to warrant them paying for my classes. No prestigious school wants to pay for shit I’m not going to.” The laugh that followed his statement caught in his throat, coming out breathy and weak. “I decided that I could do it, and I got a second job as a bank teller.” He laughed again. “But then I started missing more classes, so I had to quit. Eventually the legacy of a shitty dad and a stay-at-home mom wasn’t cutting it, and there’s no way in hell I’m taking out student loans cause I can barely pay rent, and I have a semester left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked, stepping closer.

“Because I was scared, Dean! Because I’ve always been scared! It’s the same reason I took two fucking years to apply after graduation! I’m scared! I didn’t want anyone thinking I couldn’t do it and I didn’t want to come crawling back because of something that was my fault.”

Dean pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, while his brother’s arms slowly reciprocated.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy. I’ve got money that’s been getting crazy interest since I started in LA, and I’m gonna make you borrow it. How much is it?” He asked, stepping back.

“About forty-seven thousand.”

“Alright.” Dean took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s a lot of money, but we’ll figure it out.” He gave his brother an assured smile, right as the car pulled up.

Carlo drove a silver Mini Cooper, a car Sam would no doubt struggle to get into, and the thought made Dean laugh. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and reminded him to text him when he arrived, and Sam started to climb into the car.

“Wait!” Sam pulled his head out of the vehicle. “What about my car? And Cas?”

“Both will return to your coffin of a city at the pre-approved time. Now go.” He pushed Sam in the car, slammed the door and gave a final wave before walking back into the restaurant.

 

He slid into the booth across from Cas, who had pulled out his phone.

“Alright,” he plucked the phone out of Cas hands, causing him to look up, “I’m here now, put away the Candy Crush.”

“I don’t have games on my phone,” He said, reaching for the device.

“Fine then, Instagram or whatever, just put it away.” He caught a glimpse of the screen before handing it to Cas, and snatched the phone back, scrolling a few times before laughing out loud. “Cas these are just food porn accounts,” He said through little giggles, turning the screen to face Cas.

“Yes, Dean, I know what my Instagram feed looks like,” He said grabbing his phone.

“Okay.” Dean put his hands up in surrender. “Let’s get some real food then-Wait, where are the menus, we had menus right?” Dean looked around almost frantically.

“Yes we did, then Jo seemed to know what we were getting so she took them away.”

Dean let out a long groan, both too tired to care, and scared for his safety. Then, as if she’d heard them, Jo walked up with two plates in her hand, burgers on both. She set them down in front of both men, and crossed her arms, proud smirk settled onto her face.

“Really?” Dean looked from the burger to Jo, “You trying to prove a point?”

“Kinda, yeah, we changed the recipe. Hope you like it, Mr. Perfect.” And she walked away.

Dean stared down his food. It didn’t not look good, in fact, it looked, really, really good, with the cheese melting down the side, and the actual meat just glistening, but he had a grudge and he needed to hold it, even if they’d put the lettuce under the patty which is exactly what you’re supposed to so the bun doesn’t get soggy. Even if the bun looked like it had been toasted in the divine light of God himself, a grudge was a grudge, so he crossed his arms and ignored his stomach. Or he did, until Cas spoke up.

“Just eat the fucking burger, Dean,” Cas said through a mouthful of food, half of his burger already gone.

“Fine.” He picked up the burger and took a bite, to show Cas, ‘hey man, I did it’, and that would’ve been all, had it not been literally the best burger on the whole damn planet. Both Cas and Dean sat in silence, too focused on finishing their food to care about small talk. The silence lasted about five minutes, and when the dust settled all that remained of the burgers were the fries that came on the plate. 

“That was really good,” Cas sighed, staring solemnly at his plate.

“Sadly, I have to agree.” Dean picked up a fry and dragged it around his plate, shockingly melancholy about a burger he hadn’t expected to enjoy. He put the fry in his mouth as an afterthought, and stared at it in shock. “Why are the fries good too?!” He threw it across the booth where it hit Cas in the nose.

“Did you need to throw it at me?” He picked the fry up from his lap, and put it in his mouth, nodding approvingly.

_ We’re basically kissing _ , Dean thought for a split second before his “normal interactions with human people we have no interest in fucking” brain took over.

“No,” He conceded, “But it’s fun.” He threw another fry at Cas, who caught it and put it in his mouth again.

“If you keep throwing your food at me, you won’t have any left for yourself,” Cas said, reaching across and grabbing fries from Dean’s plate.

“Hey!” Dean responded in kind by grabbing a handful from Cas’ plate. “So,” Dean said, eating Cas’ fries thoughtfully, “What’re you gonna do while I’m at work?”

“Depends on how long you’re at work.”

“Well we re-open at four, so I have to be there at two, and we close at-what’s today?”

“Monday.”

“We close at ten, which means I leave at about eleven to midnight, so at the longest eight hours.” Dean says feeling confident in his math.

“I thought shifts were longer for someone in your position,” Cas says, not in an accusing tone, just as a sort of observation.

“Well at the Ivy there’s two of us, Mick, who works the mornings, and me, at night. Plus,” Dean says, gesturing with a fry, “It’s Monday, so we open two hours later and close two hours earlier.” 

“Ah, I see, well I’ll probably watch a movie, or four. Or I could look for apartments.”   
“What?” Dean looked up from his pile of fries.

“I’m moving to Los Angeles. I finished my master’s this year, and I have a job lined up at USC after I finish student teaching this year.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean held up a finger, “I thought you said ‘working’ on a master’s for teaching, now you’re done?”

“Well, to actually become a teacher I need one year of supervised teaching, which I neglected to get while I was in school, and saying I’m still in school is just easier.”

“Okay. How old are you exactly, Cas?”

“Twenty-six.”

“How? You just listed,” He paused to think, “Seven years of schooling.”

“I took a gap year.”

“Like, move to Florida, smoke weed kinda gap year?” 

“More of the European definition, where you get a job and learn a language.”

"What language?"

"Italian."

"Well I'm learning plenty."

"Mi conosci da diciotto ore. Ci sono molte cose che non sai di me." Cas' smirk was returned with total confusion.

"Wait, if you aren't in college anymore then how did you get to be Sam's roommate?"

"We live off-campus."

“Huh,” Dean said, looking at the man across from him, actually taking in his features. His eyes were blue, that was obvious enough, but they looked tired, not like he’d stayed up late, but like he’d seen some shit. His hair was parted on the right, and fluffy, the kind of fluffy where the light illuminated it and showed the true brown color, but it looked almost black where it clung close to the side of his head. He was wearing a dark grey sweater over a white collared shirt, rolled up to the elbows, and not in an intentional way, but the way where you get uncomfortable in your sleeves, and so you just push the cloth away. The tired, lazy way. 

Cas seemed like the kind of guy who apartment hunting would kill, but who’d put on a nice face and power through, and if there was anything Dean could do to make that not happen, well, he would. “Stay with me.”

“What?” Cas looked up at Dean shock lighting up his eyes.

“Yeah, I live in University Park,”  _ He knows that dumbass, he slept in your room last night. _ “Right next to the school, it’ll be easy, and I have a room. Plus, if you split rent then I’ve got more money to pay Sam’s obscene tuition.”

“Dean, are you sure?” Cas leaned forward, his fingers brushing Dean’s, causing him to jump, like the twelve year-old he was and knock his water into his lap.

Dean stood up, shouting profanities while Cas tried to mop up the spill with his napkins, and knocked right into Jo, who dropped her tray of drinks.

“What the hell, Dean?” Jo asked, more surrendering and curious, than angry.

“I’m cursed?” He tried.

“Maybe so. Just, leave, okay? This is new flooring and you’ll only make it worse.”

“Sure thing. I gotta change anyways. Cas?” The other man looked up from his futile napkining. “We’re leaving.” He put an arm around Cas and led him out the door and to the car, laughing as they got in.

“I look like I pissed myself, dude. But hey, at least I got a new roommate.” He nudged Cas with his elbow, smiling like a dork.

Smiling back Cas only said, “Not for four months.”

“But you are in, yes?”

“Sure, Dean. I’ll be your roommate.”

“Great,” Dean said, pulling out of his space, still smiling like a dork, and his brain going a mile a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gawd they were roommates....Thanks for reading friends!!


	7. $50,736.80

Stanford called Dean the next day. He was on his way to work, once again leaving Cas alone with his Netflix password when the phone rang.

  
“Hello?” Dean put the phone on speaker and set it on the dash.

  
“Hello. Am I speaking to Dean Winchester?” A professional woman’s voice asked from the other end.

  
“Yes, you are. Who’s calling me?”

  
“My name is Naomi and I’m with the financial aid office at Stanford. I’m calling about your brother’s tuition. He met with us yesterday and said you would be paying for the last two quarters he failed to pay for and the upcoming winter quarter. Is that correct?”

  
“Yeah that sounds right.”

  
“Wonderful," _Oh yeah it sure sounds wonderful. "_ Then I just need a moment to discuss your payment methods and we can have a schedule set up.” The cheery edge in her voice was fake, but Dean ignored it. “Is now a good time?” Dean paused, looking down at the clock on his dash. He was half an hour early, like he always was, so he went for it.

  
“Yeah. Now works.”

  
“Alright.” Her cheery demeanor faltered, her voice tightening as she spoke. “In what increments would you like to pay off the…$50,736.80 charge? We discussed the Installment Payment Program With your brother yesterday, which would require registration before January fifteenth and would allow his final winter quarter, about $16,901, to be payed off in two increments.”

  
“That sounds good.” Dean nodded to himself. He glanced over to the back door of The Ivy the down at his watch. He still had 20 minutes. “And the rest?”

  
“The rest amounts to about $33835.80 and could be lumped in with the winter installments if you want, it would be an exception, but doable.”

  
“Sure,” Dean shrugged to no one. “I can pay that.”

  
“Are you sure? It’s quite a sum.”

  
“Yes.” Dean’s tone took its own curt turn at Naomi’s shock, half tempted to rattle off his job title so she could get an estimate on his salary, but he didn't.

  
“Alright. I will email you the information on the Payment Program, and mail you the payment envelope. Could I have your address and email?”

  
“Sure,” Dean said like he had a choice in the matter, spitting out his information. They exchanged equally fake pleasantries and hung up. Dean looked back at the restaurant and opened the door to his car. Slowly. Too slowly apparently because Ketch stood waiting for him at the door, hands affixed to his hips. Charlie looked around the wall behind him, a grimace replacing her perpetual grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God i'm sorry its so short it's just been so long I had to post *something*
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!! Know that I haven't given up on this!!


	8. Lemongrass Chicken Thighs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my lord this is a long time coming! new year, new me, new chapter on the fic we all thought i had abandoned! good news all around! please enjoy.

“Winchester. You’re late.”

“I am not!” Dean yelled, surprising himself. “It’s,” he looked down at his watch, “eleven forty-five, and we don’t  _ have  _ to be here until noon! The only reason you  _ think  _ I’m late is because I show up half an hour early, every fucking day! God you’re such an ass, Ketch.” Dean pushed past the crowd of line chefs that had heard him yelling, and buttoned his coat, violently pulling ingredients from the shelves. He only regretted the spat seventy-five percent, the rest of him still fuming as a shadow passed over his spinach. 

“Winchester, I am your boss. You ought to listen to me.” His voice shrieked ‘Pompous asshole’ and the sound of it grated in Dean’s ears. “I can have you fired, and with that little episode,” a sigh escaped his mouth as he paused and it took all of Dean’s power to not tear his eyeballs out, “I ought to.” 

Instead, Dean spun around to face the other man. “Oh ought, ought, ought, give it a rest! You know what I  _ ought _ to do? Break your fucking jaw. But I’m not gonna.” He pitched his voice up an octave, so close to mocking himself. “Why Dean? Why aren’t you gonna do that? Because I make a fat paycheck and that would get me fired. So you go back to your illegitimate high horse, and I’ll keeping making my spinach Parmesan.” He turned back to the Tupperware on the counter. 

His angry huffing was interrupted a few minutes later when Charlie reached past him for the bell peppers and mushrooms. 

“Is that for the baked chicken medley?”

She nodded, grabbing the onions from under the counter, but paused before walking away. “So, ‘illegitimate high horse’ huh? What does that mean?”

“How long have you been working here, Charlie? Like two years?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been here for six.” He pointed a finger at Ketch’s back. “He’s been here for three. The last lady, Hess, the one who hired me and later hated me, nepotism-ed him into a job, and I’ve been bitter about it since.”

“So why yell now?” She asked, spinning the onions in her hands like Bowie in Labyrinth.

“I’m out 51k and I’m sexually frustrated.” Simple, blunt, true, and Charlie’s only response was to gape. “I’m paying Sam’s tuition and Sam brought a friend, a fucking _hot_ friend who I said could live with me, and I can’t even share a bed with him. I’m a tad upset,” he said as an explanation. 

“Huh.” Charlie walked away to her saute station, leaving Dean alone with his spinach and his thoughts. He finished tossing the spinach, and dropped it next to the chef cooking it for that day. 

Next was the lunch special, but Dean could barely focus on the celery root, too tense. Waiting to be fired would do that to a guy. Pausing to think, Dean realized the actual severity of yelling at his boss. If he got fired, he really couldn’t help Sam out, and that was high priority. He decided to apologize, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

Putting down the peelers and the five pound root, Dean walked over to the executive, who was showing the line chefs how to season the soup Dean had been prepping.

“Ketch.”

“Dean,” Ketch said, turning.

“I need to say something.”

Ketch turned more fully, crossing his arms. “Yes?’”

“I shouldn't,” he said through gritted teeth, because he’d burn in hell before saying ‘I’m sorry’, “have yelled,” he paused for one more second, “like that.”

Ketch took his time with a nod before speaking, “No. I won’t fire you, don’t worry.” And then he turns back to the line chef who’s been staring at both his superiors with a little bit of fear.

But Dean couldn’t let it end there, he tapped Ketch on the shoulder, and watched the other man turn around with wide eyes, “Yes, Dean?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re,” he cleared his throat, “you’re invaluable.”

Dean stood, shocked. Invaluable? Him? In the eyes of this guy? “What?”

“This kitchen needs you, Dean.” Ketch flicked his eyes from Dean to his workstation and back again. “It also needs that celery, so please, get back to work.” And that was the end of his conversation. 

Dean, stunned beyond thought, walked back to his station to start cubing the celery root. That, plus other mindless work, including waiting on some lemongrass chicken thighs to marinate, allowed the two hours before their noon opening to fly by.

 

Two hours into opening and it was hectic. Yay for the revenue of the Los Angeles restaurant scene, not so yay for Dean.

“Dean, three more of the lunch chicken salad apps.”   
“Okay,” Dean called back, completing the “Communication Feedback Loop” that’d been drilled in his head since childhood and then more in culinary school. Can’t not acknowledge, or someone might make too much, or too little, or drop a knife on your foot. He’d learned that the hard way. He walked to the fridge and pulled out the apples, chicken salad, raspberry sauce, and the crackers from the cupboard. 

“Behind with a tower of food,” he called in the direction of Charlie and her soy sauce green beans.

“Got it.”

Three tupperware containers and a squeeze bottle, all for something  not that impressive. Sorry, delicious, just not stunning looking. He pulled out a towel and set eighteen apple slices on them, wicking away some of the lemon bath they sat in. “No one is wasting time cutting apples, but they aren’t going to be brown when we serve them,” he’d said when pressed by a line chef.

Flatbread, an apple slice, a little pile of chicken salad, and raspberry sauce. Six of those, wipe it off, and you had their best selling lunch appetizer, Drizzled Chicken Crackers. Dean set them on the counter and tapped the bell. They went off into the restaurant and he followed them with his eyes. One to a table of barely twenties that looked like they all owned boats and would cut the food with a knife and fork before getting the sauce on their manicures, one to a family who appeared en route to a matinee showing of  _ something  _ the way they were decked out in furs, and the last one to a man alone at his table who looked like he was finally taking a break even as he scrawled furiously into a notepad beside him. When he looked up to thank his waitress with a soft smile, Dean recognized him.

Moving as quickly as he dared, he got to where Ketch stood on the outskirts of the kitchen, supervising.

Before he could ask his question his boss muttered, “Don’t talk unless you have the lemongrass chicken thighs ready?”

“Can I go speak to one of our patrons?”

“Are the lemongrass chicken thighs ready?   
“Can I go when I finish seasoning the lemongrass chicken thighs?” He felt like a child who didn’t do his chores. He didn’t even know they’d run out of prepared lemongrass chicken thighs, he just wanted to go see why in hell Cas was here.

“Yes.”

Dean literally scampered off. Thankfully, the marinade was mostly ready. It just needed more garlic and the actual thighs to be sitting in it, but it was easy. The large, full bowl proved difficult to carry across the kitchen, but he succeeded and plucked a timer off the industrial fridge. He set it for 90 and put it down next to Garth at his “protein corner”. 

“When that goes off, roast ‘em and toast ‘em and for god’s sake,” he put a friendly and firm hand on his shoulder, “cook them in a cast iron pan.”

“I’ve made them before, Dean,” Garth called to his back.

Dean pushed out the double doors and walked over to Cas’ table. The man didn’t even look up, too focused on whatever he was writing. Kneeling down next to the table he asked, “Is everything tasting alright over here?”

Cas jumped. “Oh my god, Dean, what are you doing here?”

“Well I work here…”

“I meant at my table.”   
“You are here inexplicably, and I wanted to know why,” Dean explained with a focused gaze at Cas.

“I can’t work in quiet spaces and I needed to write lesson plans.”

Dean stood, looking at the pad closely for the first time. “AP English 12, Analysis of Poetry. Wow.”

“Even I’m struggling with it.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Whiskey and anything you think tastes good.”

For the size of the menu, Dean decided quickly. “Are you opposed to pork?”

Cas looked up at him with a bright smile, the same one he gave his waitress, and said, “Not at all.”

“Then I believe in your menu they are called Sweet Spinach Puppies, and I will let Vanessa know.”

Cas picked up his menu and Dean took it from him almost instantly. “No peeking.”

“Okay, now go back to work.”

“Yay, lemongrass chicken thighs,” he sighed. He waved off Cas’ curious stare with a simple, “I’ll tell you tonight” and walked back to the kitchen.

He stopped Vanessa on the way back, “The gentleman at table 7,” she looked back at Cas with something akin to stars in her eyes, “will have a double whiskey neat and the spinach puppies,” he paused, asking himself if what he was about to do was the right move, “without your number, he’s taken.” It probably wasn’t. He did it anyway.

“Oh, by you?” The loaded question, which probably meant Dean was being more obvious than he’d hoped, went unanswered.  _ Let her think,  _ he thought, and walked back to his station to start wrapping mini hot dogs in bacon and spinach. Add a little brown sugar, bake ‘em, and you had Sweet Spinach Puppies. Hopefully, Cas liked them.  _ Hopefully, Cas likes you,  _ his brain offered, but he shook it out of his head. Work came first, even if other things had stolen his interest in lemongrass chicken thighs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I hope you liked it! Comments and Kudos and Words of Encouragement (or reminding me that I haven't posted in eons) keep me going, so thank you in advance and thank you for reading!


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